Fresh Cut Grass
Every time I see you, you're more red and in the West
I’m always anxious, you don’t seem to know the word exists
It comes and goes, you always know, what’s lost will be replaced
Here, I ruminate on mistakes I failed to anticipate
I’m reading books again, sometimes a line sticks in my head
It’s like the author somehow has the whole human race pegged
I never guess the ending, so it's always a surprise
You’ll whisper in the cinema, and you’ll always be right
The route vale translates to farewell, so long, and goodbye
The origin of valium is Latin for goodnight
I want to know the tiniest of little trivial things
You’re more of a big-picture guy, that’s how you sleep at night
You smell like home, or something like it, not that I would know
I’m no romantic, I’m aware it’s only pheromones
Absinthe in the Pipe and Slippers, I called it a date
You always look offended when I call a spade a spade
You pick your words like shells you choose to take home from the beach
Pretty and unusual, abandoned, and empty
I heard what I wanted to in that ambiguity
Translating my own language, perfectly imperfectly
A shift, so imperceptible, but certain as the dawn
Unexpectedly as if beneath the moon I mowed the lawn
You called me crazy, we can't always be on the same page
We’re not reading the same book, I looked and saw that things had changed
Fresh-cut grass, these things don't last, and sometimes that’s okay
Copyright © Eileen Kenny | Year Posted 2023
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